Flight of the Raven
by Lady-tonya
Summary: Who needs a summary just read the story!


Prologue

The young spy pushed open the door to the room cautiously and slipped inside. The door creaked a little as it swung back and closed. Inside the room sat an unusually tall man at the head of an expensive mahogany table that took up the majority of the small room's space. He glanced up from a stack of papers as the spy entered.

"I came like you asked, sir," the spy mumbled. His well trained eyes scanned the room. The walls were made of wood and the table and two chairs were the only furniture. A United States flag hung in the corner, like in a school. Noticing the spy's hesitancy, the man at the table made a welcoming smile.

"Don't worry. We checked the room for cameras and microphones ahead of time. Wouldn't want the Russians to hear our meetings," he reassured. The spy gave a nervous laugh, though still not taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Sit down," the man invited, motioning to the empty chair. The spy nodded, sinking into the chair. The man produced a fancy black folder and set it on the table between them. Opening it, he pulled out a pair of papers, handing one to the spy. It was printed with a large color photo of a very pale skinned girl, probably no older than twenty-five or so. She had short stringy hair the color of dark chocolate, and a smattering of freckles on her face. Her eyes seemed troubled, with an almost hunted look to them.

"She is a former Russian spy, who defected to our side about seventeen months ago. Her assigned code name is Nightingale," the man explained as the spy studied the photo studiously.

"Although she has been on our side for two years now, we are starting to become concerned about her effectiveness as a spy. She is becoming increasingly mentally unstable, and we are worried what she could do next. She's been off the grid for about three weeks now, after sending us a cryptic letter written in Russian." The man handed the spy a smaller, creased piece of paper, every last inch covered with messy scrawl. He squinted at it for a moment.

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand Russian," the spy admitted, handing the paper back. The man took it back, folding it up and putting it away.

"That's fine," the man said, though seeming slightly disappointed. "Our best analysts spent the better part of a night puzzling over it. It's an obvious red herring, designed to throw us off her trail. We've been taking the information in the note and studying Nightingale and her possible motives, and we have a theory as to where she might be." The spy nodded slowly.

"So, I was wondering sir, what do you want with this Nightingale person?" the spy asked, a little reluctantly. In response, the man pulled out a gun, and setting it flat on the table, slid it over to the spy. He gave the spy a grim smile.

"We can't trust Nightingale to keep the country's secrets. Therefore, your job will be to kill her."

Chapter One

I rubbed my cold, wind-chapped hands together vigorously in a futile attempt to keep warm. The wind howled all around me, blowing snow in every direction. I shivered as a clump of snow found its home in the fluffy hood of my white parka. I looked to the right, and to the left, wondering when a freight train would arrive. I had already been waiting at this tiny maintenance station in the middle of nowhere for at least an hour. I paced back and forth along the short snow-blanketed platform. This tiny village in northern Siberia had to be the most godforsaken place on the entire planet! I could hardly see the other end of the platform, which was only about five feet away. Just then, a low, loud horn echoed across the station. I squinted into the snow and could make out the telltale glow of a train's headlamp. I shook the snow off my back and took a step back. There was a squeal of brakes as the train slowly came to a stop. Warm air from the engine buffeted me and got a little feeling back into my face. Soon, the train came to a complete stop, and it became silent, apart from the wind. The engineer climbed out of the engine, and I slipped off towards the back of the train. Cold, powdery snow crunched under my boots as I scanned the train. Boxcars, transporting Coca Cola products. It must be my lucky day. I picked a car at random, and tried the door. The engineer wasn't stupid though; he'd been careful to lock the doors to prevent unwanted stowaways. Of course, I'd spent enough time as a spy to know how to open a simple boxcar door. I pulled a small metal key out of my pocket. A skeleton key. One that I, in fact created a while back. As long as the key to this boxcar wasn't too eccentric, I could open it. I slipped the key into the keyhole and twisted. The door slid open obligingly, though with a little creak. I smiled at my handiwork as I pocketed the key. Wow. Was it my birthday or something? I climbed inside, pushing my way past towers of glass Coca Cola bottles. The door slid shut behind me, enclosing me in almost complete darkness. I sat down with my back against the wall, thinking about all the times I'd been in similar situations during my spying career. Now both sides were looking for me, afraid I was going to tell the other their secrets. Afraid of me, and what I might do. They hadn't fooled me. I'd noticed their concerned looks when I showed up for work, I'd heard the whispers that always suddenly stopped when I entered the room. Everybody thought I was insane. Of course, I wasn't. I was just as sane as the next woman. At least at the moment. Now both the US and Russia had bounties over my head. I gave a dry laugh. They'd probably never guess I'd hide behind enemy lines. A small lurch, and movement brought me back to reality. I heard a small intake of breath, and I smiled to myself. I quietly pulled my customized gun out of its holster and began unloading it. Seven bullets fell out into my other hand. Seven bullets for seven targets. I silently returned the now empty gun to its holster, while putting the bullets in my pocket. I knew I wasn't alone in this boxcar. However, I didn't do anything. I was curious to how this would play out. I could hear him creeping up to me, and heard his breathing: shallow and fast. He was afraid of me. I stayed absolutely still as I felt my gun being carefully slid out of its holster. His breath warmed my ear now. I waited. A lamp hanging from the ceiling turned on, and I heard the telltale click of a gun loading. A cold hand dug its fingers into my chocolate hair, pinning my head to the ridged wall behind me, and I felt hard metal to my forehead. The muzzle of a gun was pressed to my head. I couldn't turn my head so see my assailant, so I tried to talk to him. However, no sooner did I open my mouth then the muzzle was pressed harder into my skull.

"Die," an unfamiliar voice hissed in my ear. And then he pulled the trigger.

—

A deafening bang sounded close to my head, and I instinctively flinched. However, instead of collapsing, blood pouring out of my head, I just sat there, completely unharmed. I turned to the attacker. He was a wisp of a young man dressed in a light brown parka and boots. A few little drifts of golden brown hair poked out from under his hood. He examined the gun, confused, before looking back at me. I smiled and produced the bullets.

"Looking for something?" I asked, amused. The man's cheeks turned a shade of pink. I plucked my gun from his loose grasp and returned it to its proper place. After a second, I realized something.

"Why don't you have your own gun?" I questioned out loud. After all, when one is on an assassination mission, one usually brings their own weapon. The man looked even more embarrassed.

"I did bring one. I just dropped it," he replied. His voice wavered a little as he spoke. He had a strong American accent, and spoke English, so I was guessing that he had been sent by the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.

"You dropped your gun?" I repeated dubiously. "Seriously, how long have you been a spy? Two days?" The man shook his head.

"About a year now," he corrected. I felt a flash of insult. The Americans saw me as a threat, but not one worth using better spies on? The wispy young man interrupted my internal rant.

"You know, you're supposed to be dead. And I'm supposed to kill you," he commented uneasily. I threw my hair back.

"I honestly don't care what America," I said the word as a barking laugh, "thinks I should and shouldn't be. As for you, you can do whatever the hell you want, but let's keep in mind that I have a gun and you don't." The man looked a bit uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Good. I rose to my feet and folded my arms.

"Well, seeing as we're not violently murdering each other, maybe we could exchange names? I know your code name's Nightingale, but if we knew each other's real names, it would be a bit more personal. My names Keith, by the way. What's yours?" I gave him a withering glare.

"Nightingale!" I snapped at him. Did he think I would just give away my identity!? Keith looked taken aback.

"...Okie dokie, then. I guess that's what I'll call you," he stammered awkwardly. I paced back and forth like a caged animal. The walls of the boxcar trapped me. They were a prison. A torture chamber. A coffin. I felt a dull pain in the front of my head, and I rubbed my frozen hand on it. I hoped it wasn't what I thought it was. I tried to concentrate, pausing in my strides and ignoring the pounding of my heart. I turned back to Keith, who had taken a seat on a crate of Coca Cola. His deep brown eyes were trained on me, observing my every movement thoughtfully. A few minutes ago, I would have shot a bullet through his brain, but now I wasn't so sure. I thought he was too pathetic to just kill, and besides, I knew I probably needed the company. The last time I'd talked to a human being was a week ago, when I'd 'borrowed' a small biplane to fly out here. Afterwards, I had crashed it in a frozen pond two miles south of the village to get the authorities off my trail. Not that I had a trail. I was much too clever for that. But an associate would be nice. Whenever I was alone, the voices got louder, more convincing. I pushed that thought out of my head and looked Keith in the eye.

"I've been thinking, and now I've decided. You're far too pathetic to destroy. Plus, you're gullible, talkative, and honestly not that bright. Therefore, I was wondering if you'd like to arrange a….treaty, if you'd like. We'd work together for the time being," I suggested, making it clear that I was doing this out of the goodness and generosity of my heart. Make him feel indebted to you. Keith seemed thoughtful. I wondered if I should help him out with his decision-making. I lightly brushed my fingers across my gun unconscious, not taking my eyes off him. He noticed the motion, and shifted. After a moment, he stood up so that we were face to face.

"Okay. It's a deal," he said decidedly. I offered a hand, and he shook it with his cold sweaty hand. I hid a smile. He was making a deal with the devil. Very soon he would be dead.

Chapter Two

Our hands dropped from the handshake, and I stepped back. Keith sat back down, and I went to the far side of the compartment and leaned against the wall, listening to the soothing rumble of the train wheels clattering along the tracks.

He's going to stab you in the back, you know, a voice in my head commented.

"Not if I have any say in the matter!" I silently shot back.

Who's to say you do? You've been in this situation so many times. Russia abandoned you. The US abandoned you. Face it, Nightingale, nobody's on your side. You'll be far safer alone, the voice continued. I shook my head.

"No. I don't trust myself. You know what happens when I do that," I protested at the voice. It made a lilting chuckle at the tendril of fear that wrapped around the thought.

You needn't be afraid of it. It's simply another facet of your personality. I personally think you should embrace it, the voice murmured. I squeezed a hand into a ball.

"You think I'm gonna!? Last time, I became the murderer of innocent people!" I argued, gritting my teeth.

And yet you've vowed to kill Keith. And is that so wrong? What the world needs is a rebel, Nightingale. A fresh, radical voice to upturn everything. You could be that. You're destined to be that. The voice had become barely a whisper behind my ear.

"My destiny is not your business! Get out of my head!" I snapped back.

"Nightingale….are you alright?" A real voice brought me back to reality. Keith was staring at me worriedly, and I realized I'd been talking out loud to myself. Oops. I gave a thumbs-up to show I was still okay, though it didn't really assure Keith. Just then, pain shot through my head like a lightning bolt had struck it. I grabbed it, wincing, and suddenly icy cold dread began creeping through me. How did I not notice the signs!? The appearance of the voices should've been more than a warning, and the headache was a giant red flag screaming "DANGER!" It was happening. I staggered across the train car, desperately looking at Keith.

"Keith! You have to get out of here!" I screamed. Keith looked very unsettled.

"What're you talking about? Are you feeling alright?" he asked. I shook my head. Already, I could feel my grip on reality loosening. I had to get Keith out of here before I hurt him.

"No! You have to get….away from….me…." I gasped, clutching a stack of crates. It was taking over. I guessed I had seconds. Keith was making no move to leave. I tried to warn him again, but all that came out was a savage, agonized wail. I was on my hands and knees now. I squeezed my eyes shut. There was nothing I could do now.

—

The boxcar was dark, and quiet. I knew Keith was standing next to me because I could hear his quick, shallow breaths. I was laying face down on the floor, and the smell of sodas and syrup hung heavily in the air.

"...Nightingale….are you okay?" Keith asked tentatively. I felt a hand come to rest on my back. Immediately, my head snapped up, and I fixed Keith with a strong stare. He withdrew his hand as if I was a hot stove.

"Never been better," I replied shortly, practically leaping to my feet. All traces of my headache -or any weakness- were gone. I strode off to the corner of the car, where an old rusty ladder clung to the wall. I climbed up a few rungs, before reaching for a hatch in the ceiling to open. The hatch was almost completely rusted shut, so it took a lot of effort. Meanwhile, Keith had followed me over to the corner, and watched me oddly.

"What are you doing?" he questioned.

I didn't even glance back as I replied, "None of your business, assassin!" I could practically hear him flinch. With a screech, I opened the hatch, revealing the cloudy sky. I climbed up, and came out in the roof of the train.

I crouched on the top of the boxcar, digging my hands into the snow to grasp the roof below me. Roaring wind blew my hood off, and the flying snow stung my cheeks. I began counting the number of cars to the engine. Just then, behind me, Keith poked his head through the hatch like a meerkat. He squinted in the snow.

"Nightingale, you should get down here!" he called over the wind and snow. "I mean, yay, train roof, but it's dangerous!"

"So? If you're scared, stay in there," I answered, rolling my eyes. My heart pounded in anticipation of his demise. Soon. Very soon.

"But what are you doing up there?" Keith shouted. I carefully rose to my feet, having an easy time balancing despite the constant vibration of the train beneath me.

"I'm going to the engine, of course!" I answered. Wasn't it obvious? Keith was saying something else, but I ignored it, beginning to trudge my way to the front of the train. After a few steps, I looked back. Keith didn't follow me. Oh well. My ingenious plan would work best if he stayed where he was. I made slow progress along the train cars. I shivered in the cold, but it didn't compare to the burning hatred inside me. America would pay for sending me such an insult! I became lost in my head, plotting revenge. Perhaps a public execution? Or maybe I'd slowly pick off government officials one by one. They'd never underestimate me again! I almost didn't realize I had made it to the front of the train. I stopped suddenly at the front, peering at the tracks below that raced past at a dizzying rate. I bent down and began digging through the rapidly accumulating snow below my feet. My hand struck metal, and I brushed some snow off, revealing a hatch. With a quick yank, it came open, giving me access to the engine. I leaped inside, landing on all fours and quickly standing back up. The engineer, a plump little man with a beard, literally jumped when he saw me. His mouth opened, and closed again. I smiled at his fear.

"Hello. You must be the engineer. Pleasure to meet you. However, I'm afraid I'll have to dispatch you shortly. I'm very sorry," I said smoothly, of course not feeling sorry in the slightest. I pulled out my gun and held it level with the man's chest. He took an instinctive step back, terrified. His eyes were stretched wide, and the blood had drained from his face. I pulled the trigger. There was a bang, and the engineer slumped against the wall behind him, a steadily growing dark spot on his chest. Putting the gun away, I inhaled the intoxicatingly salty metallic tang of blood. I turned to the controls, carefully stepping over the body. Looking out the windshield, I could see the tracks curve up a few miles ahead. Perfect. I scanned the panel of buttons and little blinking lights that looked like Christmas decorations. I had no idea how to drive a train. Of course, that wasn't my goal. I saw a lever that was labeled as speed. I yanked it all the way down with a click-click-click. The Diesel engine began roaring louder, as the train sped up. I watched the little needle on the speedometer slowly rise past 60. I chuckled out loud to nobody in particular. Keith would be most certainly doomed. And it wasn't even all that hard! The needle crept up to 80. The snow outside had become a blur of white. The curve was coming up. I went to the door and unlocked it, but left it shut. I'd be hitting the curve at about a hundred kilometers per hour in a few seconds. I gripped the door handle. The seconds seemed to move in slow motion. Then, we hit the curve. The wheels screeched against the rails as the train tipped precariously to one side. The train was gonna derail! The train flew off the tracks altogether, for a moment flying over a hundred foot drop. Then, it began to fall. I pushed the door open and leapt out, trying to put as much distance between myself and the train as possible. I was falling now, and I realized I probably wasn't going to survive it. However, instead of fear, I felt satisfaction. I brought down an assassin today! The wind whipped at me as the ground hurtled towards me like a runaway train. Like the runaway train I just caused, in fact. I spread my arms wide welcomingly as I hit the cold snowy ground. There was a deafening explosion behind me, and then sinister, wonderful blackness.

Chapter Three

The first thing I felt was pain. It seemed every inch of my skin was throbbing. I tried to open my eyes, but all I saw was white and cold. I closed them again. Cold snow pressed in on me from all sides, and I felt numb. The last thing I could remember clearly was my argument with myself. After that, it was hazy. I had a dim recollection of the smell of blood, and a lot of snow. It all seemed far away and detached. I wondered if I was dead. If I wasn't yet, I probably would be soon from hypothermia.

Nightingale. A soft, lilting voice echoed in my thoughts. I didn't reply.

Nightingale. Get up, it said gently.

"No," I thought back, the single word making my head hurt. This was definitely the last person I wanted to talk to.

Nightingale, you're not dying on me. Get up out of the snow or you'll freeze, the voice pressed, a note of concern in its voice.

"Well, what if I don't want to survive?" I retorted. I realized with a start that I actually meant it. Most of the throbbing pain had diminished, the snow numbing my entire body.

I don't care if you want to survive or not. Quit moping in the snow drift and move it. Your target awaits. the voice snapped, clearly frustrated. The words hit me. My target? The voice seemed to read my thoughts.

I doubt your trick with the train killed him, the voice said. There was something in its voice. Disappointment? With the force of a thousand suns, I realized what had happened. Dread began sliding through my veins, colder than the snow packed around me. But what exactly had I done? My brain began imagining all sorts of terrible things I could have done.

Very imaginative, the voice complimented, but no. Here, I'll tell you if you get your mopey self out of the snow. I didn't have any choice. I tested my arms and legs, and to my relief, nothing was broken. Slowly, I placed my hands underneath me and pushed up. The movement hurt, but not as much as I'd expected. I sat up and squinted in weak light. The sun sat on the horizon painting streaks of red and orange across the sky. I sat in a large flat snowfield, and the relentless snow from earlier had let up. It made me wonder how long I'd been in that snowbank. I looked down at myself, checking for injuries. From the general ache that came with any movement, I could tell that I was bruised everywhere, but no sprains or broken bones. I noticed dark brown blood on my shoe, but it didn't seem to be mine. A crackling sound behind me made me turn around. When I looked, I almost fell back into the snow. The remnants of a train lay in the snow on its side, the engine still on fire. It was completely wrecked. Did I do that? The voice had gone, much to my relief, which meant I was now firmly on the side of the right-minded. Just then, an agonized shout behind me broke into my train of thought. I turned around and saw Keith staggering towards me. His left arm seemed to be broken, and he nursed it against his chest. His other arm was held up in a fist. He stared at me in horror and fear.

"No! Go away!" he cried. I took a step toward him, and he stumbled backwards away from me.

"No! Don't….don't kill me!" he panted desperately. I tipped my head to the side in confusion.

"Why would I kill you? We have an agreement," I pointed out to him. His eyes darkened and he pointed a trembling hand at me.

"Why would you kill me!? Well, let me see. You climbed on top of the train and CRASHED IT! Sounds a bit like a death threat to me!" he shouted. I wasn't sure exactly what to say.

"Let me explain! That wasn't really me!" My words were abruptly cut off by him.

"Of course it was you! I watched you!" he roared. I bit my lip. This would be difficult. I could tell by how the sun kissed the horizon that it was getting late. I turned back to Keith, who stumbled through the snow away from me. I smiled a bit at that, knowing that if I'd been in a chasing mood, I could outrun him in a heartbeat.

"Look, I'm not planning your demise or anything. It's a bit complicated, and I promise I'll explain. However, it's getting late, and we're in the literal middle of nowhere. So unless you'd rather go off and freeze to death all alone, then you're welcome to stay here," I explained. He paused for a moment, thinking, before turning around, evidently deciding that I was the lesser of two evils. Satisfaction warmed me from the inside as I realized that I'd still have a traveling companion, even if that companion wanted me dead.

—-

Within an hour, I used gasoline from the train wreck and wood from a few boxcars to construct a rudimentary campfire. The warmth melted the snow around me, so I crouched on the cold, hard packed ground beneath. I'd used a particularly tough and straight piece of wood as a splint for Keith's arm, calling back my knowledge of first aid to help him out. The smell of granola bars was in the air, because I knew better than to enter uncharted territory without emergency supplies. Keith chewed on his bar thoughtfully.

"What are we gonna do?" he asked with his mouth full. The flames cast flickering shadows on his face. I knew that hadn't been the question he intended to ask.

"We'll walk," I replied confidently. "Eventually, we'll reach civilization, and we can steal some transportation from there." I knew that wasn't the question Keith meant to ask. Above us, stars blanketed the sky in vast numbers. I could never see that many growing up in Moscow. I knew a few, mostly the ones for navigation, but here there were so many more, ones I'd never seen in my life. To me, they looked cold, empty, and far away, gazing down on us without a care for our plights. I guessed that far away stars didn't care about human things such as the Cold War. An impatient cough derailed my train of thought.

"Nightingale? You promised to tell me why it wasn't you who crashed the train, no matter how much it looked like that, and why I need to trust you," he said with a mocking look in his eye. I sighed, knowing this would be an awkward conversation. I swallowed the last bite of my granola bar and spoke.

"Well, Keith, it was me who crashed the train, but it wasn't exactly me. Most of the time, I'm the one in control of my actions, and I'm pretty normal. But, I'm not the only one in my head." Keith raised his eyebrows. He probably thought me mad. It wasn't going to get any better. He noticed me pause and motioned for me to go on.

"There's another voice in my head. A crazy, murderous one. Every now and then, it gets in control of me, and I do terrible things. At other times, it talks to me. In my head. It's not me. It's an uncontrollable thing. There's no way to tell when I won't be….well, me." There was a brief pause. Keith looked nervous for a moment.

"Don't worry; it's me right now. I'm usually alright," I reassured. Keith still stared at me.

"Okay. So, you're saying that there's someone else….in your head?" he asked slowly. I nodded. This was going worse than I'd originally predicted. Keith seemed thoughtful.

"Pardon me if it doesn't make sense, but does this….this person….does he or she have a name?" he asked.

"I don't know. They've never told me," I admitted. I felt a bit silly. Wasn't it just a voice in my head? It certainly wasn't a person!

That's how you think of me? the voice suddenly questioned with a note of surprise. I'd forgotten it was there. I shook my head, trying to get the voice out of my thoughts. It made a thoughtful 'hmm' before piping down.

"Okaaaay…. That's….interesting," he stammered. His eyes flickered with unease. I reclined against my backpack in a comfortable position, trying to get Keith to relax as well.

"So, when did this….voice, I guess, begin talking to you?" he asked.

"It's an interesting story," I answered, "but one for another time. It's late, and we've got a lot of walking to do tomorrow." Keith looked like he wanted to ask me about it, but thought better of it and yawned, curling up against a pile of rubble. I pulled my parka up like a blanket and closed my eyes, drowsiness overtaking me. However, I couldn't help wondering about next time I lost control. This time, I'd been lucky that only one person died, and not one that I cared about. But what about next time? An icy shard of fear chilled me from within, and with those thoughts, I slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Four

I wandered through a silent, snowy forest that seemed familiar, yet altogether different. The puffy snow crunched under my boots, the sound echoing through the dim woods. I looked above me, but the trees grew too thickly for me to see the sky. I dimly wondered how I knew this place. Just then, I heard branches rustling. I stopped. I was alone. Who was making that sound? The branches clattered against each other again, and I turned in the direction of the sound. A dark silhouette stood framed against the gnarled trees. Curiosity striking me, I approached the strange figure. As I came closer, the features resolved. It was a woman exactly the same height as me, wearing a black parka with the hood pulled over her head. Her long dark brown hair rustled in an invisible breeze, and she turned to face me. There was something unsettling about her face. Her brown eyes stared into my soul, and the pattern of freckles on her face felt too familiar. The person smiled at my puzzlement.

"Hello, Nightingale," she greeted pleasantly. The voice rang through my head, and I recognized it. But from where?

"Nice weather, isn't it?" she commented offhandedly, glancing upward at the trees. I followed her gaze. In a high branch sat a glossy black bird.

"Where am I?" I asked slowly, unsure.

"Here," she replied simply, not taking her eyes off the majestic bird perched in the tree. The woman pulled a gloved hand out of her pocket and snapped her fingers once. With a caw, the bird spread its wings and glided down, landing on her arm. The bird stared at me with dark, thoughtful eyes. I looked from the bird's eyes to the woman's eyes. With a jolt of terror and dread, I realized where I knew this person from.

"You're…." I trailed off. The person gave me a warm smile that made me jittery.

"Yes, that is correct. Your mentor, friend, rescuer, companion. Even your alter ego, if you'd like," she replied smoothly. I took a step back. This person was deadly. She didn't pause.

"Last night, you wondered what my name was," she commented. I didn't answer.

"Well, seeing as we're the same person, I think I can safely trust you with my name. Hello, Nightingale. My name is Raven."

—

I woke feeling especially paranoid after having the unsettling dream with the voice in my head. Well, apparently it was called Raven. I didn't know that these kinds of personas had names. Keith seemed to notice my paranoia from the way my hands trembled as I packed up. It was still early, the sky still a rosy hue, but I felt restless. The longer we lingered here, the more likely it would be for us to be found. As I stuffed my box of matches into my backpack, I could feel his concerned gaze boring into me. However, he didn't make a comment. I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

"So, Nightingale. How about we follow the train tracks back to civilization?" he suggested. I fixed him with a hard look. Was he stupid? Honestly, and he thought that I was the crazy one!

"Are you crazy? If we can follow them, so can others. We could get caught!" I growled. Keith looked dubious.

"We could get caught? By who? We're the only ones out here," he pointed out, motioning around us at the lack of people.

"Spies," I hissed. "Don't think we're the only ones. They could be watching us at any time. This is Russian territory. Let's not make the job any easier for them. We'll travel southwest until we reach civilization." Keith still looked uneasy, but shrugged and followed me into the snow.

The hours slowly crept by. Keith and I trudged through the endless snowy landscape in silence. It was too quiet. Far too quiet. There wasn't a breath of wind, or the distant call of an animal. It felt wrong. Keith didn't try to make any conversation. In fact, he didn't even look me in the eye. I glanced up at the slowly climbing sun every now and then to check our direction. As I walked, I started to feel more and more on edge. What if the spies noticed the circle of snowmelt from my fire? Or our footprints in the snow? I scanned the sky anxiously, misinterpreting every dark spot in the sky as a plane.

"Umm….Nightingale….?" Keith had stopped and was looking at me pointedly. I blinked at him. He motioned to my hands. I didn't understand what he meant, so I shrugged and kept walking. After a moment, I realized that I was clutching my gun with my right hand, and my fingers were white.

You know they're following you. Why don't you cut your losses and eliminate the enemy you travel with, Raven suddenly hissed behind my ear. Startled, I jumped and then stumbled awkwardly in the snow, trying to regain my balance. I gritted my teeth.

"Wouldn't a corpse lying in the snow attract some attention!?" I thought back, taking care to not let the interaction become out loud.

Perhaps, but it'll distract the spies from you. And besides, you know you want it. I feel that desire, she whispered.

"No! Go away!" I snarled under my breath, too quietly for Keith to hear. "I'm not going to kill him yet, and that's FINAL!" Raven chuckled softly at my defiance, as if reprimanding a small child.

Oh, is that so? I'd estimate you have….oh, I'd guess seconds to kill him, Raven commented. I felt puzzled.

"And why would that be?" I challenged. I could hear a dull roar in the background, but payed it no heed.

For a spy, you're awfully unobservant, Nightingale. Look up, Raven urged. Curious, I glanced up at the sky just as a shadow fell over Keith and I.

"What the—" Whatever Keith said next got drowned out by a loud roaring sound. Immediately, I knew what was happening. I had to get away, and fast. Wind whipped my hair as I began to run. The world numbed around me as I stumbled through the cold snow, away from the pair of spy planes that now descended towards us.

Chapter Five

"STOP RIGHT NOW OR WE'LL SHOOT!" I ignored the all-too-familiar threat and continued running. I knew they wouldn't actually shoot. After all, I was far too important a prize to kill. They'd want me alive. I heard the crunch of snow under their boots as they gave chase. I lowered my head and kept running, while Raven laughed gleefully, telling me of glorious bloodshed. However, I was far too concerned with flight to try and push her out of my head like I usually did. My mind was too preoccupied to notice the signs, or at least pay them some heed. I accounted the pounding pain forming in my head to running, and the dull screaming of Raven in the back of my head to stress. I heard gunshots from both sides, each missing me by several inches. Warning shots. A strange amusement filled me. I twisted my head around to look at them, so they could see me laugh. They couldn't catch me! I was the Gingerbread Man! Wait, no. That sounded stupid. Did I say that out loud? I certainly hoped not. Just then, pain tore through my skull. For a second, I wondered if they'd shot me after all. Clutching my head, I stumbled into the unforgiving snow. The tiny crystals of ice scraped at my face. The pain was too great. I couldn't think. I felt the pounding footsteps of the Russians echoing against my head as they approached. Every fiber of my being screamed to get away, but there was too much pain. No. No. NO! It was happening again. I pushed my head up, ignoring the unbearable headache and the blackness pressing on the edges of my vision. They were almost upon me. My vision blurred red, and I realized blood was dripping into my eyes. I vaguely wondered when that had happened. The two men looked furious, but their eyes gave me that sympathetic look that they'd give to the deranged person laying in the snow with blood dripping from their face. There had to be a way to tell them.

"Stop! I'm not insane! Just—" My voice cracked on the words. One of them- the fatter guy- seemed to smile. They didn't understand that I was only crazy when Raven was around! I tried to explain, but I didn't have any breath. No. I had breath. It was Raven's breath now. She had taken over.

—

It couldn't be. It was impossible. My nightmares had been correct. I'd never have thought I could be back at that place that haunted me for so long. I pressed my hands desperately against the hard concrete that enclosed me on every side. They pressed in on me, constricted me, like a snake. I paced the length of the room, furnished only with a cot. A sense of panic grew inside me with every second I stood in here. I wanted to scream, to run, to pound my fists against the walls until they bled. I examined my hands, tracing my fingers across the faint pink marks that ran along the side of my hand and fingers, caused by doing exactly that. I couldn't even remember how I got here after Raven got in my head. One minute I lay in the snow, and the next, I had been thrust into this room. Hours had passed since then, but I wasn't sure how many. It could have been days. Or perhaps it was just seconds. Time knew no bounds here. I looked down at myself. Somebody had taken my hat, gloves, and parka, leaving me with my pale sweater. My gun had also been taken for obvious reasons. I had no idea what happened to Keith, whom I'd begun to think of as a friend. I still ached for his death, but I wanted it to be my hand that struck him down. His demise would be pointless otherwise. I sank onto the cot and squeezed my head between my legs. This room would be my demise.

I didn't know how much time passed when the silence broke. A tray of food was shoved through a flap in the door with a scraping sound. I felt a flash of outrage at the flap. They were treating me like an animal! My stomach growled painfully, and years of instinct made me grab the tray and begin eating its contents. To this day, I had no idea what the mushy grey substance was, but consumed the material anyway. Worms of fear gnawed at my insides as memories of a place exactly like this raced through my head. I couldn't hear over the relentless pounding of my heart. My spoon slipped out of my hand and clattered to the floor. The sound echoed off the austere walls, but couldn't wake me from the memories: mainly one in particular.

Running. My feet flew over the dusting of snow between the monstrous trees. Three people chased after me, shouting in Russian. I understood them easily, but didn't reply. My hair whipped in my face as I sprinted through the well-known forest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I spotted light up ahead. The edge of the forest. I bent my head down, forcing my legs to run faster, harder. I was getting closer. My heart beat out a rhythm of freedom and loyalty. There was a reason why I switched to America. They would have my undying loyalty. I burst out of the trees, blinking in the sudden brightness. Out of nowhere, two men suddenly sidestepped me, grabbing my arms and dragging me away. My struggles were futile, and only made the pair laugh. I shouted some choice Russian curses, having acquired the rather coarse vocabulary from a young age. One of the men, who had an admirable beard, laughed at my defiance.

"The turncoat speaks!" he chuckled in Russian. "How's working with America?" I responded by spitting in his face. The man looked mildly disgusted, but didn't reply. The other one kept telling me that there were "big plans" for my imprisonment, and that I'd "never be the same again." I'd taken those words with a grain of salt as they had shoved me into the back of a truck.

Little did I know they'd be right.

*sticks advertisement for rest of book down here*


End file.
